


Several Things I Like About You

by untouchableface



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Internal Monologue, Love, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Relationship Meddling, Snark, Warden Carver Hawke, mentions of Carver Hawke, these two idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 07:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableface/pseuds/untouchableface
Summary: If there was one thing Marian Hawke hated, it was admitting that Carver was right. Ever.In which one younger brother is more astute than anyone else cares to admit. Mostly fluffy, rated T for language and some dirty thoughts.Title loosely inspired by a certain 90s film.





	Several Things I Like About You

If there was one thing Marian Hawke hated, it was admitting that Carver was right. Ever.

And for her to even give him this particular victory – when it could so easily be chalked up to the Darkspawn taint clouding his brain and making him spew nonsense – was a lot. “Don't be an idiot, sister,” he had whispered into her ear as she helped him walk. “He loves you, and you love him. Any fool can see it. Don't let it go to waste.”

Perhaps it had been her utter shock in that moment, or the constricting feeling of helplessness that told her she could not do anything to save her brother. The sudden and timely intervention of the Wardens – no promises, but _maybe_. That was the only rational explanation for why she didn't just throw those stupid words back in his face, or scream them mockingly at the sky.

But damn it, Carver had been _right_, at least when it came to her growing feelings regarding one particular trusty dwarf.

The only thing more subtle than a rogue being intentionally sneaky was a rogue that was being unintentionally sneaky. Or so she'd hoped. Did it make her a fool that she hadn't even noticed at first? Did it make Varric a fool for not picking up on her feelings? Did Varric even have feelings for her? Or, somehow, did it make neither of them fools, because neither of them saw it? Was there even anything to see?

Of course, when Carver's first letter came several months later – he had made it through the Joining after all and was settling in to his new life – Hawke included exactly none of these questions or concerns in her reply letter that she dashed off while 'borrowing' Varric's favourite quill and stack of parchment. After all, she wasn't going to give Carver the satisfaction of knowing he was even partially right.

Like a tree growing on the Coast, much like a thousand other small things about Varric, she had unconsciously bent herself around all of these pieces of him, making them fit into her life. In particular, his favourite expression applied nicely in this specific situation: _well, shit._ Her growing feelings had been so subtle that she hadn't even noticed until everything hit her all at once; falling perfectly in line with the evolving disaster that was the rest of her life. 

The first time she'd seen Varric in his glasses: she'd snuck into his room as he worked through a stack of correspondence. It was a rare moment of self-consciousness for him as he tried to hide them by throwing them somewhere approximately halfway across the room, and she had giggled at his flustered state. Stealthy he was not, but Marian Hawke did not normally fucking  _giggle. _ Then, almost automatically, she had grabbed his glasses from the floor and put them back on his face with a satisfied hum – and he had let her! The way his eyes crinkled up at her made something claw at her insides, but it had been easy enough to write that moment off as 'maybe hungry for Corff's stew'. The idea of wanting a deeper intimacy, or of appreciating this quiet moment, hadn't even registered consciously in her brain. 

Not to mention the casual touching: Hawke had not been aware of how often she touched Varric until stupid Carver had opened his stupid mouth. But it was... maybe the tiniest bit excessive. The way their fingers brushed when playing Diamondback or Wicked Grace, or when passing a flask back and forth. The way her hand found a home on his shoulder any time they were about to barge into a room or cavern that could contain any number of enemies. The way she draped herself over him whenever she leaned on him, either using him as a resting post or perhaps moving in close to his ear to tell him a particularly dirty joke. But of course if she were to change up her patten now then of course Varric would know for sure that something was up, so she kept touching but all of sudden it was much less casual, at least on her part. And Andraste help her, the times Varric suddenly stepped a little too close, or turned the full force of his shit-eating grin onto her. It was all she could do in those moments not to close the distance between them, take his face in her hands, and ferociously lay claim to his mouth.

And Varric was so fucking  _generous_ , it was almost sickening: he was always giving his time and/or his money and/or his alcohol and/or a hundred small other things. He made sure Anders was left alone. He looked after Merrill. More than once, a 'mysterious benefactor' had taken care of Isabela's bar tab, and while Hawke could never concretely prove that was Varric, she definitely had her suspicions. Somehow, all of his aggressive caring infuriated her while simultaneously also endearing him to her that much more. 

And then there were his stories. As often as she'd joked to Varric about “a dwarf who's good with his hands”, at least half of the reason she wanted to beta-read his written work was with the vain hope he'd based a character off of her. Preferably one in a romance story, one where she could get a better sense of what he might like in the bedroom. As the saying went, the truth was less strange than fiction, after all. And the idea of him writing late into the night – maybe even touching himself at thoughts of her – turned Hawke on. A lot. A lot a lot, if she were being completely honest. The stories he told about her as he bragged to the bar about their exploits were one thing, but even Hawke was not dense enough to miss the fact there were small parts of Varric littered throughout his 'fictional' writing. It was only natural to look for clues, she'd told herself. Not that she'd ever use a list of potential turn-ons to her advantage. Much.

But damn Carver for getting infected, and double damn him for putting the idea in her head. Because now Hawke was painfully aware of just how much she  _liked_ the damn dwarf. Maybe even loved. Not that she'd admit that aloud. 

“How's the letter to Junior coming?” All of a sudden, Varric was very much in her space, and Hawke had to look away from the chin next to her cheek in order to keep from doing something extraordinarily idiotic. She could smell his soap on his skin – freshly scrubbed - mixed with the faint tang of crossbow oil. After those damn spiders today, he'd wanted to get cleaned up as soon as they got back, and she didn't blame him.

“Oh, just peachy. Did Bianca enjoy her bathtime with you?” If she had blinked at that moment, Hawke would have missed the slight twinge that passed across his face. “You're welcome to add your declaration of undying love to him, you know. Get it, because he's...” Hawke snorted, trying to keep the moment light.

“Something's gotta keep that boy going, but I'm not sure my particular rogueish charms would do it,” Varric chuckled, warm and low, as Hawke felt the timbre of his voice sinking to a point somewhere below her waist. “Anyway, tub's all yours if you want it.”

“Ooh, lukewarm water mixed with spider goo. You really know how to seduce a lady, Tethras.”

“You've bought me a lady for the night? Whenever does she arrive, Serrah Hawke?” This time, it was Hawke's feelings unceremoniously laid out on display. She only hoped that Varric had missed the flicker in her eyes; if he hadn't, he was at least kind enough not to press further. “Could be worse. I could make you sleep on the floor, without said bath. Besides, Norah's on her way up with fresh water.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door and Norah bustled in, pails in hand. She didn't say anything, but the judgy scowl on her face said everything. One of these days, they would arrive back at the Hanged Man without being covered in blood and/or goo and/or other questionable substances. But alas, today was not that day, and there was a trail of spider guts behind them that attested to said fact. 

After Norah changed out the tub, Hawke hummed happily as she stripped down and submerged herself in the hot water. “You keep up this level of service and I just might have to propose to you, dwarf,” she shouted across the room.

“You would, too,” Varric answered. 

It didn't mean anything, Hawke told herself. Just witty banter traded between friends. It didn't mean anything at all. It couldn't. “You better watch out, I just might!” Hawke dunked her head under the water, staying under until a solid count of fifteen, giving herself a plausible excuse for not being able to hear what would surely be a rejection if he thought she was at all serious. 


End file.
